Grand Theft Affection
by Zeppelinlocked
Summary: Zeta meets Tommy after hearing about him from Forelli. Aliases are present. This story takes place in Vice City, 1986. Chapter three lives.
1. Twenty Keys

**A little information: **This story is connected to my other story The Eyes Of The Green Mile and IS going to be related to Beyond The Victory, and Thunder. I call this trio of stories, Victory's Legacy due to that fact that every Original Character's name means Victory and _some _accomplishments are fulfilled.

**Plot: **This story is a little odd because the Main Character, Vita II has made a promise to a fourteen year old Claude to get married once he's old enough. (There is no pedophilia activity whatsoever in this story.) 'Zeta' meets Tommy after hearing about him from Forelli. Aliases are **present**. This story takes place in **Vice City, 1986.** I figured that this story may be _**8 chapters **_long.

**Enjoy or loathe.**

_This is for my best friend Lili, I love you, and keep writing, and don't you ever give up, you'll find a cure for Writers' Block.  
>You've always inspired me in some way. I love ya to pieces. <em>

-Rhett

* * *

><p><em>Tommy Vercetti?<em> Zeta thought. _Why does that name seem familiar? _She lain back into the dark chocolate leather chair touching the wall, opposite the open windows in Ken Rosenberg's office, and tapped her chin thoughtfully. Cloudless skies. The office was bedecked to Rosie's liking; Zeta was the only one who considered Rosie could suit as an interior decorator as well as a legal representative.

"Hey Vi—erm, Zeta, You wanna come with me and pick up Tommy and the guys from the Escobar Airport?"

She looked to Rosie, and shook her head.

"You sure? You might find Tommy delightful or something! You need a better boyfriend…n-no offence."  
>"I'm fine, Rosie, you and Claude, is all I need. No offence taken, besides I have a fiancée: Claude."<br>Rosie detached himself from his chair, went about his imitate mahogany desk and tapped Zeta on her shoulder.  
>"Alright, I'll be back in a few minutes." Rosie turned and paused at the door.<br>"Are you sure you're going to wait for Claude? He's only fourteen."  
>"Da. And anyways, he's coming to Vice City tomorrow."<p>

Rosie smiled at her and strolled out of the office. Zeta rose from her chair and gazed out the second floor window of the office, observing Rosie driving absent in his ashen Admiral.

* * *

><p>Meandered off into southwestern edge of Washington Beach, only a few blocks gone from K. Rosenberg &amp; Co., numerous of the Washington Beach residents were tanned to a coffee looking texture. Zeta dyed her skin bleach white frequently to conceal her from herself, she, of course, stood out of the mass of bodies. Her fine white, bespoke, double breasted suit didn't belong usually here either. <em>Click Clack Click Clack<em> went her black low heels. The sounds of Vice City were hardly pleasurable, the prostitutes advertising, innocents being car-jacked and endless gibbering. _Click Clack Click Clack_The air smelled of salt mixed with water from the spray the wind brought, cheap sun lotion—

"I do. Heh-heh-heh-heh."

Zeta twitched in shock as an arm unexpectedly wrapped around her shoulder, she hesitated from withdraw of the Bowie knife strapped to the thigh of her trousers. Her brow rose as she looked at her captivator. African-American, six feet two inches, his arm felt is weighted 7 pounds. _5% of a humans' body weight is an arm, If his arm is seven pounds, then he must be 142 pounds. He's a little underweight, I could take him down._

"Who are you? What do you want?"  
><em>Answer quickly, asshole.<em>  
>"My name is Sir AppleBottom, a'ight? Are you interested in bein' part of mah Mafia?"<br>_Interesting.  
><em>"No. I'm not interested get lost."  
>Zita shoved his arm away and continued walking. <em>Click Clack Clic<em>—

"Ey! You sho'?"

Zeta responded with her finger. A taxi approached her.  
><em><br>_

* * *

><p>The Malibu was full of dancing lunatics, but the songs chosen were grand. Scanning the area for Kent Paul, she tried to pay no attention to the tang of low-priced cigarettes and perfume. She saw Kent sitting at a table drinking something with a shady color to it; she walked over and greeted him. They embraced.<p>

"What are you drinking, Lobby?" Zeta said petting his awful hairstyle.  
>" A mix ov Jow' Cola an' vodka, wanna 'ry?"<br>"No thanks, I don't drink."  
>" That's 'ard ter believe from a person like yew, a Russkie."<br>"How stereotypical!" She hit him lightly on the shoulder.  
>" Haha, its da truth, beloved, 'ow'd yew end up in Vice Ci'y anyways?"<br>"I heard Vice City was an agreeable place to live, so I wanted to see it for myself."  
>" Really, are yew sure yew didn't come fer me, rubba glove?"<p>

_I try my hardest to look like a man, but I don't seem to fool many people. Do I look like a man from this far away? I hope no one thinks of Paul being homosexual. Ha—Bisexual, maybe._

"I'm positive. Is my nickname now rubber glove?"  
>"Nah, beloved, its cockney slang." His voice echoed and deepened as the glass reached his lips and drank the last of the Jolt Cola and vodka mix.<br>"Oh yeah, huh. You've taught me a while back how to rhyme in limey… " She leaned in nuzzled his neck.  
>" Yeh. Can't believe yew forgot, I 'ope yew don't forget abaht me, beloved, that'll be 'eartbreakin' an' rude." Lobby positioned an arm around her waist, and placed his head on hers.<br>"Hmm. . . . Lobby, you should try speaking in an American accent, would you please?"  
>" Nah, I don't wan' ter be considered a Honky."<p>

After a few minutes of listening to 'Fascination by Human League' and Lobby's pulse, Zeta pulled up her suit sleeve and glanced at her watch.  
><em>Almost time, I better get back, don't want Rosie suspicious, do I?<em>

"I gotta go," She detached herself from Lobby and straightened out her suit. She would need to get a similar suit or clear the odor of cigarettes and alcohol. He took hold her hand.  
>" What? No, no, no, yew just got back from Liber'y Ci'y two days ago, we need ter spend quali'y time together,"<br>"Lobster, we'll spend some time together the day after tomorrow. Claude will be arriving tomorrow, so I'm going to be busy."  
>" How abaht a phone call tomorrow, beloved?"<br>"Alright, see you later."

He detached his hand from hers and watched her graceful stride towards and out the entry.

* * *

><p>Her bottom barely touching the dark chocolate chair in Ken's office yet again, Rosie exploded through the door. He lurched over, panted and huffed. Zeta got up with a quiet sigh and sarcastically asked,<p>

"What happened Rosie?"  
>"Gah! The guys and I got ambushed! The cocaine is gone, the money is gone, everything! What do I do—"<br>She got a hold of Rosie's shoulders and stood him up straight.  
>"This, Tommy, will take care of it, go sleep or something."<br>"Hey! That's exactly what he said! Why do I need to sleep, do I look like I need to sleep—"  
>"Shh!"<p>

She guided him around his desk and sat him down. She then sat on the corner of his desk, looking at him.

"Yes."  
>"Mmm… I don't want to—"<br>"—Stop worrying, it'll make your stomach hurt, Rosie."

Rosie looked in her eyes, the right one was blue, and the left was green.

"Why'd you even go out with the limey bastard anyway, I was heck of a lot better boyfriend than him! He's weird, and he's always at the Malibu, there are women there, Zeta, lots of 'em. He could be cheating on you!"  
>"You're jealous."<br>"No! Never in a million years… Hey, have you ever eaten Giggle Cream? I could use a bit more joy in my life, ya'know?"

Zeta scoffed and gave his cheek a light smack of enlivenment.

"Don't."  
>"Why? What's wrong with Giggle Cream?"<br>"You're already screwing around with cocaine; I might have to put you in a rehabilitation center."  
>"Oh, thanks. . ." Ken placed a fist against his cheek.<br>"What's Tommy's full name?"  
>"Vercetti."<br>"Hm."  
>"What is it? Heard of it before?"<br>"Possibly, I have the worst memory in the entire world."

She rose from the angle of the desk and left abruptly.

* * *

><p>The ghost of a sallow female went home on foot. Prostitutes offering themselves to her, perhaps they considered she was a man. She had a Torsolette within her suit to conceal her natural curves, her shoulder length white-blonde hair, and a somewhat straight jaw line that probably tipped them off. The night was here, and summoning the freaks.<p>

… _At least they think I'm a man. Good enough._

Entering her apartment in Vice Point, it began to drizzle.

_How I hate this weather, I miss the fog in Liberty; maybe._

She hurriedly went inside and shut the door. Shuddering with her brow aligned with the door, she noticed her breaths were irregular and without tempo. Her hand slid down the chilliness of the door.

_Tommy Vercetti . . . Who are you . . ._

Regaining the strength to straighten herself, she walked all the way through her living room in shadows. It began to rain harder.

"Son of—!"

Feeling around for the lamp, she stubbed her toe into the table; eventually she found the lamp and switched it on. The room brightened and seemed more approachable. The ruby, azure, and shades of cherry covered the chairs, walls and table; the 80s look. She fell into the zebra striped chair, a sigh of relief. After an hour, the rain stopped, she fell dead to the world.

_Tommy opened the door and entered. The room was echoing in quiet sobs, occasionally being inaudible. The 20 year old sat on the bed, and looked into nothing but darkness except for the tinge of illumination from the streets peeking through the window._

_"Vita—Hey, it's Tommy, don't cry, okay? Jeez, I'm not a babysitter"_

_At the sound of his voice, Vita immediately uncovered herself from the bed sheets and clutched Tommy's torso, sobbing into his white undershirt. His body was toned and firm due to his hard work of beating up other students at school, and seldom of pounding an adult._

_"Hey . . . it's just thunder, only sound, it can't hurt you." He ran his fingers through red hair._  
><em>"Da. . . It's the lighting. Lighting hurts."<em>  
><em>"The lightning you mean, yeah, lightning sometimes kills people if they're not being careful. You're smart for a five year old."<em>

_The child looked up at him with two wet separate blue and green eyes, her freckles lost their color. Tommy cupped his hands around her cheeks, and kissed her forehead._

_"I'll sleep here if you want me to. I don't mind, but you better not tell anyone."_

Zeta shook away from her slumber, the corners of her eyes wet with motionless tears. She remembered nothing of her dream just now. Frustrated and tired, she rose from the chair, left her apartment building and headed for Rosie's headquarters; she couldn't stand to be alone.


	2. Oh, Heartbreak?

_Knock Knock_

"Who—who is it?" Rosie spoke at the closed door.  
>"Your best pal," Zeta replied.<br>"Alright, just a sec—"

The carroty colored haired man grunted as he rose from the leather couch; opening the door, his grin was stretching ear to ear.

"Zeta! How pleasant of you to stopover! Wow, only seems 2 hours ago you were here! Great!"

He took grasped her and hugged her securely. Zeta responded with a grunt.

"Ya'know, I think you require talking to more people, maybe socializing! Hey, Tommy's coming later in the morning, maybe like 9 or 10 a.m., I'm sure he won't come at this damned hour. So, uh, what's up?"

Zeta guided him away from her into the office, shutting the door behind her. Rosie had an impression of being hopeful on his face.

_What the hell—_

"Rosie," She sighed.

"I'm not here for that, get over it." The sting in her feet was becoming a little irritable, she sat on Rosie's desk, and afterward laying on it with her hands weaved behind her head. Rosie sat in the chair at the back of his desk.

"What! No, no! I was just hoping we would talk for a few hours or so, you need to start teaching me Russian."

"—Like you're going to ever meet a Russian anyway," She scoffed.

"What makes you think that?"

"You're a ginger, not many Russians' like gingers, I don't know why. Or maybe, that's just from my perspective."

"—Stop being so down on yourself, you hear? Yeah, sure, you're a Russian with red hair, but you shouldn't hate yourself for that," Ken pleaded.

"My Father hated ginger haired kids, and I was the reason he hated them," Covering her face with her hands, she laughed.

"But you bleached your hair white, and your freckles have been erased, you shouldn't still be damning yourself over the past!"

"—You're right, for once. I'm going to sleep here, as usual. Wake me up when something important happens."

_Three a.m. Fucking insomnia._

Blowing a short breath from her lips, Zeta got up and sat in her rawhide chair alongside the wall.

"well, uh, good! Okay, I'll do that! Oh, and by the way, why did you visit Paul at the Malibu?"  
>"How'd you know."<br>"You reek of cigarettes,"

_Shit. I forgot to—Agh!_

* * *

><p>"—Go get some sleep, he says -I have been sitting in this chair all night with the lights off drinking coffee! This is a disaster. We are so screwed, man! These gorillas, listen to me, are gonna come down here and rip my head off. It's ridiculous! I did NOT go to law school for this! Ok, now what the hell are we gonna do?"<p>

Rosie sounded as he was talking to himself until another smooth voice replied. Zeta was quietly half-asleep.

_This isn't eavesdropping, hell, he came here. But at the same time I should have stayed home._

"Shut up, sit down, relax. I'll tell you what we're gonna do. You're gonna find out who took our cocaine - and then, I'm gonna kill them." The voice said. "—Who's that on the chair over there?"

"That's a good idea. That's a GREAT idea. Oh, that's Zeta, my best friend, she, uh, came from up North about two years ago. You wanna meet her? She asleep though. I think."

_No, I don't want to meet Tommy, leave me alone. Oh damn, well, agh,—_

Zeta belched out a yawn and stretched from her chair, giving Tommy a single upward nod.

"Zeta Fiorillo."

Tommy scanned her from the toes, up.

"Vercetti. Tommy Vercetti. You're from up North? No shit?"  
>"Liberty. Portland, Red Light District." She replied.<br>"Portland, Hepburn Heights."  
>"Interesting. I hope to be working with you or for you, Comrade Vercetti."<br>"I'll look forward to it."

And with that, she left Rosie's office to clean her suit.

* * *

><p>Tommy turned his attention to Ken.<p>

"She's cute, huh?" Rosie implied.

"Not the right time for that shit Ken, you were saying?"

"— Let me think, let me think, let me think. OH! There's this retired Colonel, Colonel Juan Garcia Cortez. He's the one that helped me set up this deal well away from Vice City's established thugs. Ok? Now, listen. He's holding his party out in the bay on his expensive yacht and all of Vice City's big players are gonna be there. Ok? I have an invite, of course I have an invite, but there's no way that I'm going out there, sticking my head out the door - no way! Not gonna happen."

" I told you, shut up! I'll go myself..."

Tommy turned, and made his way to the door, irritated.

"Ho - whoa, whoa! Hey, I like 1978 too, but, y'know, this isn't gonna be a beer and strippers do. I mean, no offense, but I think that you might turn heads on the runway for the wrong reasons."

"What's wrong with the way I'm dressed?"

"Ok, look, here. Stop by Rafael's, tell him I sent 'ya. He'll make you look respectable."  
>Tommy went towards Rosie again and took a document from his hand.<p>

"OK, go, c'mon..."

* * *

><p>The typical Zeta was hiding behind a corner, watching Tommy leave Ken's place. As soon as he was out of sight, she entered the building and barged through the office door.<p>

"I want details about Comrade Vercetti."

Gaiting through to the end of the room, she sat on Rosie's desk.

"Information? Why?"

"Of course, what do you have? I'm sure you have him on file, hell, Forelli sent you something, and he should have. I need to know everything."

Rosie opened drawers and slammed them shut, scurrying about in his desk and near it. After a few minutes, he finally found a vanilla folder, he was proud of himself.

"Ah-Ha! Here we go—Wait, why am I doing this? Isn't this an invasion of privacy or something close to that?"

A curious and a one-track minded russkie snatched the folder immediately. She licked her finger and opened the file. To her surprise, the first thing she saw was his date of birth.

_1951 . . . He's 35? He looks like he's in his late 20's, but __**35**__?  
><em>

"What's up?"  
>"Let's see here . . . Thomas Vercetti … Portland, Hepburn Heights . . . blah blah blah… psychotic killer—Harwood Butcher!"<p>

Something lit up in her dense memory, she nearly forgot what it was, but this time, she was lucky.

"Huh, wow, never though of _him_being the Butcher." Rosie blurted.

"I remember when I was a kid—about five years old—someone close to me left for a very long time. No one told me why, not even Forelli. I don't remember their name."

"So what you're thinking is, Tommy could have been your friend 15 years ago. Uh-huh, uh-huh. I don't see why not, it's possible since the both of you hailed Liberty." He slapped the desk. Woo! It's like a reunion!"

"Hardly. My childhood friend could have been a female. Damn, I wish I could recall more memories. Hm, I should leave; I need to clean this suit. I'll be back in an hour."

Hopping off the desk, Zeta gloomily opened the way out.

"An hour, why? You're not going to kill a horde of people are you? Or walk around Vice Point for pointless reasons? Oh hey! What about picking up Claude from Escobar?"

She stood in the doorway, thinking for a second.

"It's most likely Claude's flight was canceled because of the upcoming storm . . ." She paused. "I'll visit Paul today."

Rosie complained. "Ooooohhhhh, jeez. You probably forgot that he's a pathological liar, too. Zeta, you're going to face something horrible, I know it!"

_…Paul… Wouldn't do something as far as cheati—_

"I'll see you later, Rosie."

* * *

><p>The tailor waved at her to signal that her suit was ready; she smirked as her backside left the chair. The suit was as clean as it could possibly get, crisp folds, and the light smell of lavender. Zeta heavily tipped the dark-haired, short, plump, tailor in one-hundred dollar bills, new. Before dropping off her suit, she wandered the store and purchased an all dark green suit, and wore that as her ashen suit was cleaned, the green suit wasn't fitted well enough; it created an image of her being slightly bigger around waist.<p>

_A good fifty minutes sitting here, with no worry in the world. Why can't life be like this all the time? Oh, right, I'm supposed to murder someone for the Family down here._

"Thank you, Sir." The tailor said.

"You're very welcome." She replied.

Turning around, she heard an attention seeking cough. Without turning, she responded.

"Yes?"

"May I ask your name, Sir?"

"…Zeto. And yours?"

"Montgomery."

"Thank you, Monty. I'll see you first for all my suit necessities."

A bell jingled as she opened the door, and went through. With a short leap, Zeta fell into the driver's side of her black and jade Stinger. Tossing her suit aside, she gripped the steering wheel, twisted her wrist, and headed for the Malibu. The air was whipping her hair around, and whispering in her ears; the smell of Vice Point was clean today. Liberty reeked of Guido bastards and burning money, everyday. She never wanted to return.

_Can I really wait 6 years to get hitched? I don't break promises, especially Claude's._ _An_ _upset Claude is not a pleasant Claude._

The Stinger silently stopped in the back parking lot—the only parking lot—at the Malibu. Leaving the suit in the passenger seat would most definitely be stolen; she decided to place her suit in the trunk. The Malibu. Watching the bodies do these strange movements was humorous, but annoying all at the same time. Getting pass the horde of dancing zombies was no easier than kissing her own elbow. She finally arrived at the Bar and asked,

"Paul?"

A woman with dark hair and a red strapless dress raised her head, and elegantly mixed all sort of colors in a glass. The fume was alluring, but Zeta knew better.

"He ran off to his apartment with an Italian bird and a Cuban. I'm sorry hun, you're just going have to wait until he comes back or join his whore gathering. He left ten minutes ago, I'm sure you can still make it."

"I see, Thank you very much."

"No problem, hun. Have a blast."

In disbelief, she gaited quickly out and to her Stinger and drove to Paul's apartment near the North Point Mall.

_Paul . . ._

* * *

><p>Hurriedly twitching the key to his apartment from her trouser pocket, she was panicking. She didn't want her heart hurt, nor, change her perspective of the opposite gender into negatives. The doorknob rattled as she twisted her wrist and pushed her shoulder into the door, opening it and light poured though into the living where Paul was; his wet, sweating flesh shining along with other two bodies on top of him and beside him. He seemed to be disoriented by the sudden light, he fell off the couch and regained his footing.<p>

_One, two, three—four. Not a condom in sight, love leftovers on the floor and couch, and on some of these bodies. If only I hadn't gotten an alteration in my actions with murder, every single one of these beasts would be dead._

"Who's ther'," He shaded his eyes. "gotta wai' yaaahr turn, Paulo's a busy man, Yeh?"

"I see that now. I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Lobby."

"Lobby?—Wait! Zeta it's not what i' looks like! I, can explain! Ok?"

The door slammed and the female made her way to her Stinger, and sat on the trunk.

_He must have not been worth the effort and time; I don't feel livid or miserable. Relaxed—actually._

* * *

><p><em>There was supposed to another scene after the one above, but I wanted to publish this by 10:30 p.m. I'm terrible at describing physical features, but I think I do just fine with the dialogue? <em>_**Review. **_

-Rhett


	3. Back on the Market

"_**A #2 pencil and a dream can take you anywhere."**_

_**-Joyce A. Myers**_

_I don't really have time to make the Chapters the normal 2000 words, aye, so here.  
><em>_-Rhett_

-Tommy-

The door to Ken's office squeaked lightly as Tommy elbowed it open. Ken was sitting peaceably listening to Wave 103, his hair tufted a little ways to the left and right.

"Tommy!" Ken straightened himself in his chair and placed his clenched hands on his desk. "How'd the party go? All has gone well, I hope. Did you meet Mercedes?"

Tommy sat on the chair placed in front of Ken's desk; the chair seemed to sigh.

"It went well, Mercedes introduced some of the important figures in Vice City."

"Ah! Well, I hope you're having a good time. Because I'm going out of my mind with worry here. What did you find out?"

"That there are more criminals in this town than in prison. We need a lead from the streets... And also, I want information on your friend Zeta."

Ken raised a brow, glistening with light sweat. Tommy noticed the sweat but ignored it since a reasonable explanation for sweat would be Florida's heat. The ginger shifted slightly about in his chair.

"Why? Are you suspicious of her? She's as innocent as newborn baby. Ha! You and your suspicions." Ken smirked.

"I'm not suspicious; I just want to know more about her." Tommy tapped his index finger on the desk. "All I know is that she could stab me in the back when I'm not looking."

"Information, well; she's Russian, five feet eight inches, and great in knife fights." Ken smiled. "But she's horrible with a sniping rifle and sub-machine guns. Oh and, uh, don't tell her I told you this, but her real name is Vita."

"Vita? Why did she give herself an Alias? Is someone after her? I want to know more about her before she came to Vice City."

"I don't know," Ken shrugged." maybe, she's just paranoid—

Unexpectedly, Zeta walked in.

"Zeta, have you ever heard of knocking?" Ken leaned toward Tommy. "Gee, this girl is rude, and Zeta! I've never seen you not wearing a white suit, why are you in casual clothing?"

She swatted at the question as if a fly buzzed past her face.

"You were right about Paul."

"Paul?" Tommy questioned.

Ken centered his attention back to Tommy.

"Ok. There's this limey, some music industry slimeball, goes by the name of Kent Paul. Anyway, he's got his nose so far up most of Vice City's ass that if anybody knows the whereabouts of 20 k's of coke, it's this guy, all right? He's always at The Malibu."

" I'll go pay him a visit." Tommy said as he lifted himself off the chair and headed out the office. As soon as the door shut, Vita glared at Ken.

"So, what were you two talking about?"

"Just about the party at the Cortez's boat, the more important question is: What happened to Paul?"

_Of course, what else could you have been talking about?_

Vita comforted her rear end on Ken's desk.

"He screwed an Italian bird, a Cuban and two other dark women in his apartment." She replied.

"I told you, but you didn't listen to me," Ken pushed her shoulder lightly. "did ya?"

She rolled her eyes. "What now?"

Ken laughed. "You've got a letter from Love,"

He picked up a pink envelope and handed it to her. "here."

* * *

><p><em>I would like you to join me at the Front Page Café for lunch this afternoon at 3:30 p.m.<br>I'll be sitting inside, table closest to the door.  
>The Front Page Café is directly north of the Ocean Drive Hotel.<em>

~ Donald Love

Vita sighed and tossed the letter in the passenger seat of her Stinger. Aggravated, confused and tired, her forehead and the steering wheel came into contact. The horn blared and scared pedestrians walking past the Vice Point Langer, an Asian tourist screamed and ran away quickly. Many by-standers were laughing at the frightened tourist as he ran, stirring a feeling of pity in her bosom.

_3:00 p.m. …_ _I'll get there early and surprise him. But first, I'm going to change back into my suit…  
><em>  
>She turned the key, the engine roared.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Yikes, this may stay as an in-complete story for a long, long time. Fair warning.<em>


End file.
